0; The Dystopia of Today

“Death is an interesting thing, isn't it? It's either sudden or agonizingly slow, with no in-between in any circumstance. A death can bring grief, joy, confusion… It all depends on the person. Even the circumstances can depend on the person, who they were in life. But not always. A “bad” man can have a peaceful death - they often do - and a “good” man can have a painful death.

But what even are “good” and “bad”? They simply cannot be proved, are just a widely believed theory, much like gods. They could exist, or they could just be imaginary, something thought up to keep humanity in check. From “good” and “bad” blossoms guilt and remorse for doing something presumed “bad” by society, and pride and joy for doing something presumed “good”. For instance, ending a human life - yours or someone else's - is “bad”, but saving one is “good”.

So what draws the line between the two? Why are there certain defenses to murder that make it okay? We live in a very morally gray society; “right” and “wrong” are often jumbled together. “Good” men are condemned to death, while “bad” men walk free, are even respected for acting “good” towards the public. Oftentimes, their wrongdoings are only exposed after death, when nobody can even do anything about it. And sometimes, “bad” men are given positions of power before they become “bad”, then are feared so much that nobody can take them off said positions.

Our world is that of a dystopia…

These are the thoughts that the woman thought when her doorbell rang, thoughts that she'd had many times for a long time, though she didn't dare speak them aloud because, as her thoughts state and she would refuse to admit, she, like millions of others, was afraid to.

But all those thoughts disappeared as soon as she opened the door.

There in her doorway stood a young man, not quite eighteen, looking quite nervous. He was tall, with warm-toned skin and brown eyes that were almost black, his short and curly hair of the same colour. He was wearing a simple T-shirt and pants, black biker’s gloves covering his hands.

The boy studied the woman nervously. She paused for a moment before unlatching the door and opening it wider.

“Dimitri?” She asked, stepping aside to let him in, “What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with Mister Huntsmann right now?”

The boy, Dimitri, hesitated for a moment before coming in. “I should be honest with you, Pominki. Mister Huntsmann was the leader of the Scorpion Den.”

“No, I know.” Pominki - the woman - replied, shutting and locking the door, re-latching it as well. “What do you mean, ‘was’?”

“You knew?” Dimitri asked, surprised.

“Yes, I even helped fund it.” She said, turning towards the boy. “What do you mean, he was the leader, Dimitri?”

“He's dead.” The boy's words were blind and clipped, speaking quickly. He wouldn't make eye contact. Pominki froze.

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening. “What happened?”

“I was with him and Crystal just now,” Dimitri said, looking up. “He just… collapsed. The Den’s medics say it was a heart attack.” He waited for a reply from the woman, but he got none. Just wide eyes and bewilderment. “Couldn't call the cops because there was too much risk of them finding out about the Den’s underground activities. Crystal was his right hand, so she took over.”

“She's sixteen.” Pominki said flatly.

“And still more capable than I am.” Dimitri replied. 

“No, I know she's capable, kid,” Pominki said, grabbing her coat from the hanger beside the door. “And I am well aware she was going to take over. But with her age, some of those executives are not going to take it lightly. They already gave her side-eyes for being Huntsmann’s right hand.”

“There's nothing wrong with her being young,” the boy said, stepping aside so that Pominki could reach the door.

“No, there's not.” The woman replied, reaching for said door. “But there are many people who think otherwise. They will try to overthrow her.”

“She'll answer with blood.” Dimitri said.

“And the people will respect or even fear her.” Pominki replied, her head tilting back towards Dimitri. Her eyes were sharp, her expression cold. “Which will make enemies, kid. The Den doesn't appreciate those who oppose it.”

She unlocked the door and opened it once again, the cold night air meeting the warmth of the house. “What are you going to do, Pominki?” Dimitri asked before she could step out, watching her carefully. She didn’t reply.

Dimitri couldn't help but notice how the woman's rings, two golden rings on her middle fingers, glinted oddly under the moonlight. 

The woman ignored Dimitri's questions about her leaving, hurrying off down the road and leaving the door open. The boy stared at where she was just moments before, then shook his head and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He didn’t have a key, though, so it would have to remain unlocked. He left it, figuring that it'd be her fault for forgetting to lock it if someone broke in.

Dimitri picked his motorbike up off from where he'd set it against Pominki's outer wall and rolled it back onto the sidewalk before mounting it and taking his helmet from the handlebar. He revved the engine before breaking off into the mostly empty road, besides the few cars parked to the side. The houses here were all almost exactly the same - three stories and white walls with a front yard big enough to hold a horse and a back yard even bigger, each and every one lined by a white picket fence. The only difference between them were the curtains and the fact that some houses had freshly cut grass and some didn't; even all the mailboxes were the same, pristine, vibrant red.

The boy suddenly swerved out of the way of a car, which was going way past the speed limit and on the wrong side of the road. The car was small and red, and Dimitri was fairly certain he recognized it from somewhere, though he wasn’t sure where. An unfamiliar feeling of dread washed over the boy, though he couldn’t pin where it was coming from. The car? He couldn’t think of why.

He sped the bike up. Red mailboxes and white houses blurred in his peripheral vision as he focused on the road in front of him.

***

Pominki walked calmly down the street. It was a secluded part of town, no picket fences or immaculate symmetry like where she lived. The woman liked it here, here where she could simply walk without being stopped for a conversation by some neighbor. 

Though she couldn’t enjoy the peaceful night just yet. 

Who let a sixteen-year-old be in charge of a mafia? And just because the late boss said so? If Pominki’s being honest, Silvan Huntsman probably wasn’t qualified to lead an organization himself - he left his executives to do all the work.

And then she realized the irony of what she was thinking. The current queen took the throne at fourteen, and Pominki’d never even thought twice about it. Probably because the queen had been running the kingdom long before her mother’s death, because her mother left her to it. Odd, isn’t it, how Pominki feels so apprehensive about Crystal being a leader and yet not at all about the queen?  

She shook her head, clearing all thoughts. The queen wasn’t her problem and she couldn’t do anything about it. Crystal, however, was a different story. Pominki looked up from the ground. The rendezvous point she’d set up with Miskerine years ago was near now.

It then crossed her mind that she’d not sent a message to the man, she’d just ran off to the downside of town and assumed he’d be there. But Miskerine was a smart man, he’d most likely already know what had happened.

She was sure that he’d be there.

The rendezvous point was an old park that not even squirrels went to anymore. As Pominki ducked under a low branch, she took note that the old, rusted swing set had fallen, both swings now on the ground. The monkey bars that connected the two halves of the metal play set had multiple bars missing, some of them lying in the sand on the ground. The climbing net was torn badly, and most of the rocks on the rockwall were gone.

It was like a hurricane had hit the park. Pominki had been here just days before and everything was fine. Now, she found herself wondering what happened. 

But the most important thing about the scene was the man leaning against a tree near the forest. He towered over Pominki even while leaning back. The man lit the cigarette in his mouth and pocketed the lighter he'd used, one the woman hadn't seen in his hand.

“It'd be so easy to pickpocket that.”

Stop.

“To light Miskerine and the whole forest aflame.”

These are the thoughts that killed so many people already. Stop.

Pominki shook her head as the man looked up, his bright blue eyes focusing on her in a glare as he pushed himself off the tree. He knew exactly what she was thinking, his hand covering the pocket he’d put his lighter in.

“Pominki.” His voice low and hostile as he took out the cigarette, smoke escaping from his mouth.

“Miskerine.” Pominki replied, walking closer. The man was at least a foot taller than her, with long, straight black hair that draped over his shoulders. He had pale skin and blue eyes forever locked into a glare. “Huntsmann’s dead.” the woman said.

“Finally,” Miskerine replied flatly. “The man was a danger to society.”

Pominki blinked. She raised an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s not, and you know it.” He said. 

“Whatever.” Pominki muttered. “Could we focus on not letting the kid get killed while trying to lead a mafia?”

Miskerine hummed. He seemed to be thinking about something. The man’s hand never left his pocket where the lighter sat. “Maybe,” he said, his eyes glinting with something hostile. “If you’d tell her what you did-”

“No.” The woman’s voice was sharp as she cut him off. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I suppose Crystal’s getting no help.” He said coldly. Miskerine took a step towards Pominki, and she took a step back. “You can’t run forever, Zhernov.”

Pominki’s eyes narrowed and, without a word, she turned and left. Miskerine finally took his hand away from his pocket.

***

Crystal was looking through files when Dimitri walked in. The door was open, something that wasn’t typically seen in the Scorpion Den. Crystal was shorter than Dimitri, with brown hair that faded to blond at the ends, pale skin, and the same red eyes Pominki did. A black silk mask hugged her face, covering everything but her right eye. She was wearing what she always was; a black turtleneck, blue jeans, and black boots. 

“Never thought you’d just walk in.” Crystal said flatly, her one visible eye never looking up from the papers in her gloved hands. 

“The door was open.” Dimitri replied, backing up to stand awkwardly in the doorway. Crystal looked up, unamused.

“Well, close it, then.” She told him.

“So- sorry, sorry.” The boy stammered, hurriedly coming back into the room and closing the door behind him.

The Scorpion Den offices were typically much smaller than this one, but there was an exception for the Boss. The walls were painted a pristine wine red, the floor and ceiling black. A window expanded across the back wall, casting bright light into the room. A long shelf sat under it, lined with foliage. Hanging plant baskets fell from the ceiling on either side of the room, and bookshelves lined the left and right walls. It gave an almost eerie feel, knowing how from such a calm place sprouted the roots of the Scorpion Den.

“Is this about Huntsmann or Pominki?” Crystal asked Dimitri, looking back down at the papers in her hands. He couldn’t see her face, but her tone sounded almost bored. Like she expected this would happen.

“Pominki, but…” Dimitri replied, trailing off.

“But if we talk about Pominki, we’ll start talking about Huntsmann, too.” Crystal finished for him, looking back up and sighing. “I’m guessing telling her didn’t go down well?”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, it did, just… she wasn’t happy about you taking over.”

“Oh?” Crystal asked. “And why is that?”

“From the way she worded it, she sounded like she was thinking a revolt would occur.” The boy said. He shifted, pulling at his gloves.

“How ironic for her to think that.” Crystal muttered.

“What?” Dimitri looked up.

“She was the one who started the Spider’s Riot in the first place, Dimitri.”

1; The Ascendancy of Fear

Pominki did not return home after her meeting with Miskerine. Instead, she went straight to the Stahlwerk Orva, an abandoned steel plant in the outskirts of the kingdom. Ivy and moss choked out every surface, having been given decades to grow. The place looked as if nothing had even dared to come close in years.

But, of course, looks can be deceiving. 

Pominki glanced around, making sure no one was watching her. The only thing watching her was a stray cat. 

“Its eyes are human.”

No, they’re not.

“It’s watching you.”

Perhaps it is. Pominki turned away.

Well, even if the cat was watching her, it wouldn’t snitch. Even if it was able to, it’d know better not to.

Right?

Approaching the Stahlwerk, Pominki let the thought of the strange cat exit her mind. She walked across the mossy concrete ground, soaking her socks and reminding herself that she hadn’t put on shoes or locked the door before she left. Oh well.

The Stahlwerk, like every steel plant, was a large cluster of buildings. The warehouses no longer held anything but cobwebs and the machinery had stopped working long ago. That’s what the queen wanted the public to think, anyway. 

The main warehouse, a large building in the middle of the Stahlwerk called the Morgenstern, no longer worked as it was built to. It had become a meeting spot of some sorts, one that Pominki found herself at many times. Chatter could be heard within, many voices overlapping in many different conversations.

Every voice stopped when Pominki walked in, sighing.

“The Aisa apparently aren’t going to help with anything,” Pominki said, closing the Stahlwerk doors behind her.

“What would we even need help with?” One man asked, glancing up from where cards lay out in front of him.

Pomiki raised an eyebrow, walking forward like she owned the place. “Huntsmann died.” She said, adjusting her rings. “Sixteen-year-old took power in the Den.”

“In this society?” Another said, his eyes narrowing. “Kid’s gonna be overrun with people trying to take power for themselves.” 

“Thanks, captain obvious.” The woman beside him deadpanned. “Why do you think she’s telling us about this?” She looked back up at Pominki. “Does the queen know?”

“Do you think the queen knows, Charlie?”

“No.” Pominki said instead. “I don't have any way to get to her at the moment.”

The woman, Charlie, sighed. Then she paused for a moment, “hold on, don't you, like, know Mijirou’s right hand?”

“No, I know his girlfriend.” Pominki replied. “Who, by the way, is the teenager currently running the mafia.”

The man with the cards picked out one card but didn't show it to her. “Why are we so concerned about this one criminal organization, anyway?” He asked, studying the card.

Pominki, momentarily stunned by his question, stared at him in what looked like disbelief. “Do you know nothing?” She hissed, “if the Scorpion Den falls, so does the kingdom. I don't think you understand how much the Den holds up Silvarun?” Her eye twitched, just slightly. “If it's not there doing that anymore, then this city, the capital, falls. And from there, New Mercy itself.”

Silence fell over the Morgenstern. Sure, everyone knew that the Scorpion Den held up Silvarun, the capital of the kingdom, but nobody really thought what would happen if it fell. It wouldn’t take long for the news to get to the queen, and there was no telling what she or her siblings would do to prevent the fall of New Mercy. They were realizing that now.

“Pominki,” the man with the cards said, unshaken. “There are fifty-four cards to a deck. Just two stand out.”

Pominki stared at him for a moment. “What?”

He flipped the card to show her. “Be one of the Jokers. You and the queen are possibly the only people who can delay the fall of this kingdom.” He smiled, a cold glint in his eyes. “Though, of course, you could only delay. No haven lasts forever.”

***

Crystal wasn’t surprised at Huntsmann’s death. He had been a man of many enemies, and one of them had to have gotten to him at some point. But she’d never expected him to die of natural causes.

No, something didn’t add up here. The man was relatively young and he had no notable health conditions to speak of. Even the Den medics confirmed: the heart attack was unlikely. But there wasn’t much else it could be. Except for one thing.

A heart attack gun.

It was a deadly weapon developed by the CIA during the cold war some thousands of years ago.